Lets have faith that right makes might; and in that faith let us

Host: The scene opens at dawn, where fog drifts low across a battlefield long since abandoned. The grass is silver with dew, and the air carries a faint whisper — the sound of the wind threading through broken fences and weathered stones. Crows move in the distance, slow and solemn, like dark thoughts circling memory.

The camera pans to an old war monument, its marble scarred by time. At its base stands Jack, his gray eyes reflective in the early light, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his long coat. He looks older this morning — not in years, but in weight.

Beside him, Jeeny approaches, her dark hair tucked beneath a wool scarf, her breath visible in the chill air. She carries a folded letter — the edges worn, the ink faded but legible. She reads aloud softly, the sound trembling like the first note of a hymn.

“Let’s have faith that right makes might; and in that faith let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it.” — Abraham Lincoln

Host: The fog curls around them like a living thing. The words linger, solemn and alive, as though spoken not just by Lincoln, but by the quiet ghosts that still haunt this place.

Jack: [softly] “He said that in 1860 — before the storm really broke. Before everything burned. Faith before proof.”

Jeeny: [folding the letter gently] “That’s what makes it beautiful. He wasn’t calling for power. He was calling for conscience.”

Jack: [grimly] “Conscience doesn’t win wars, Jeeny. Men with rifles do.”

Jeeny: [looks at him steadily] “And yet, those rifles are useless without a reason to fire. He wasn’t talking about war — he was talking about duty. About the courage to stand by what’s right, even when you’re outnumbered.”

Jack: [pauses, watching the fog drift] “Faith that right makes might. It sounds backward, doesn’t it? The world doesn’t work that way anymore. These days, might makes everything — truth, justice, morality. Whoever shouts loudest writes the rules.”

Jeeny: [softly, but fiercely] “Then that’s why we need his words now. Faith in the reverse order — that right creates power, not follows it. It’s a rebellion of the soul against cynicism.”

Jack: [smirks slightly] “You always find a way to make hope sound radical.”

Jeeny: [smiling faintly] “It is. It always has been.”

Host: The camera moves slowly, tracing the worn inscriptions on the monument: Courage. Duty. Sacrifice. The words are carved deep but softened by weather — as though even stone understands the slow erosion of ideals.

Jack: [turning to her] “You really think people still believe in right and wrong? Half the time, I can’t even tell which is which. Everyone’s just fighting for their version of it.”

Jeeny: [meeting his gaze] “That’s the point. Duty isn’t about certainty — it’s about sincerity. Doing what’s right as we understand it, not waiting for someone to certify it. Lincoln wasn’t promising success — he was promising struggle.”

Jack: [quietly] “And faith was the weapon.”

Jeeny: [nods] “Yes. Not blind faith — moral faith. The kind that doesn’t need victory to feel justified.”

Host: The sun rises higher, the fog thinning into ribbons of gold. A flock of birds lifts from the field, their wings cutting through the light like the silent answer to a long-forgotten prayer.

Jack: [after a moment] “You know, I’ve always been suspicious of faith. It asks too much. It asks you to act without guarantee.”

Jeeny: [softly] “And yet you trust gravity every day — the unseen pull that keeps you from drifting away.”

Jack: [half-smiling] “Gravity’s never lied to me.”

Jeeny: [smiling back] “Neither has truth. Only the people who use it.”

Host: The wind rises, carrying the scent of rain and history. Jeeny tucks the letter into her coat pocket, as if to protect it from time itself.

Jack: [after a pause] “Lincoln believed that right could be stronger than power. But I wonder if he ever doubted it — in those long nights, after the speeches and the battles. If he ever thought: maybe righteousness doesn’t change the world after all.”

Jeeny: [gently] “Of course he doubted it. That’s what made his faith real. Only the doubters understand how much courage belief really takes.”

Jack: [quietly] “So faith is just… defiance with a moral compass?”

Jeeny: [smiling] “Exactly. The act of believing in the unseen good — not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary.”

Host: The camera lingers on Jack’s face as the light grows warmer. The years of cynicism seem to soften for a moment — not vanish, but yield slightly to something older and nobler.

Jack: [looking out over the fields] “You ever think the world’s too tired for faith now? Like we’ve seen too much to believe in anything pure?”

Jeeny: [softly, almost to herself] “Faith isn’t naivety, Jack. It’s the strength to believe even after the evidence says not to. That’s what Lincoln meant. ‘Let us dare to do our duty.’ Not because it will succeed — but because it must be done.”

Jack: [quietly] “Duty without outcome.”

Jeeny: [nods] “That’s the kind that defines character, not history.”

Host: The light catches the edges of the monument again — the names carved into it glow faintly as though the morning sun has awakened their memory.

Jack: [after a long silence] “Maybe that’s what he was really saying. That faith is the bridge between what we hope for and what we can’t yet see. That right, even when powerless, carries its own strength.”

Jeeny: [smiling] “Yes. Because moral courage doesn’t need to win to be worthy.”

Host: The camera pulls back, the two of them standing now in the light, the fog finally lifting. The field stretches behind them — wide, silent, and forgiving.

Host: Lincoln’s words echo through the brightening air, steady and eternal:

“Let’s have faith that right makes might; and in that faith let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we understand it.”

Host: And beneath those words lies the quiet heartbeat of his legacy —

That justice is not born from power, but from conviction.
That duty is not blind obedience, but moral bravery.
And that faith, when tempered by conscience,
becomes not a prayer for victory,
but a pledge of purpose.

Host: The final image:
Jack and Jeeny walking away from the monument, their figures small against the vastness of the sky.
The sunlight spills across the grass, warm and forgiving,
as though history itself is breathing again.

And in the distance, the faint echo of Lincoln’s voice — steady, human, enduring:

“To the end, let us dare to do our duty.”

Fade to black.